poetry: Joseph Somoza – Hasta La Vista

Hasta La Vista

Here I find myself again,
in the company of
trees and sunshine,
a quiet workday morning.
It’s like emerging from a tunnel
where my mind was cloyed
with mundane matters such as
providing food, doing dishes,
and having to
respond to others—

who are my family,
who have gone back now
to being themselves
in the far distance where I can
make out the details better,
hear their words more clearly
in the sparse air between
here and there, as if minds can’t
co-exist in close proximity
and must always be
sent on their way.

–

Order Joseph Somoza’s new volume of poems As Far as I know (Cinco Puntos Press, 2015).

JOHN D ROBINSON – UNNOTICED

UNNOTICED

I’ve left the best of my
poetry unpublished,
to be discovered after
my death: poems about
love and betrayal, of
drugs and alcohol,
poems about cats, of
their majesty and
mysterious wonder,
of living in poverty,
of fighting and
fucking and of family
holidays and abortions
and rejections and of
loss again and again.
I’ve left the best of my
poetry unread,
to be left in the hands
of those more gifted,
more driven to the
love of life to ever
let a single moment
go unnoticed.

JD DeHart – INCIDENTAL LANGUAGE

Incidental Language

Pardon the spill
in the aisle. A bit of
language slipped out.

How embarrassing.

I know we don’t speak
the same tongue, though
our mouths have the
same shape.

Yet, here is a stray word,
like a neighborhood cat,
roaming through our
planned conversation.

JD blogs here and posts poems here.

POETRY: Arushi Singh – In Between

IN BETWEEN

In between grandmother’s scandalous stories

and the little prints of thumb

in between Carol’s secrets whispered and the

Genesis of the long gone rum

in between howl and forgotten ancient words

and fickle minded dreaming sons

in between sand and time and life and wine

She breathed her last as a corpse

trapped-

in between.

POETRY: RITA ROUSSEAU – REMEMBERING

Remembering

I walk in the shadow of skeletal trees,

their fearsome, naked branches reaching out

in desperation, pleading for redemption

like ghostly soldiers back from war in search

of peace, an end to dreams

of screams and shattered flesh.

Scattered underneath, concealed among

withered, blood-red remnants of last year’s

flowers, lurk spiked seed pods,

tiny, inobtrusive land mines

set to detonate at slightest touch

exploding everywhere new seeds

prepared to sprout, to conquer, and

to dominate all lesser growth

exhibiting their red magnificence.

Until, again, the glory ends

in stark, bare desolation.

POETRY: JACK D. HARVEY – Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas “In the white giant’s thigh,” he recited, berry-eyed, while the moon, or the spotlight, like melted silver, poured down over wondering flocks of girls and their fellows; the college library wasn’t big enough to hold the babbling poems and broken science he would write, so he said, booming big and drunk, windy and […]

POETRY: JOHN GREY – BRAIN MATTER

BRAIN MATTER The brain is more than a cerebral cortex connected by synapses to thousands of neurons. It stores an infinity of ideas ready, at any moment, to be introduced in a public setting by the tongue. Even something as simple as “Let’s go get Chinese tonight.” A neuron wouldn’t think of that. Nor would […]

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